


love letters

by tisapear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gratuitous use of italics, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, Jealousy, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, the teenager in love angst I never experienced myself: the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27093334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisapear/pseuds/tisapear
Summary: He likes them best when they're ruined.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139





	love letters

Ripped apart, soaked in the sink, a few times even turned to ash with the lighter he took the last time he visited his sister.

He likes it best when he can barely discern the kanji spelling out _Iwaizumi-san_ in cute handwriting, warm blue in color, so obviously smitten with a guy that will never be theirs. 

(That will never be his.) 

He tips his head to the side and conjures up a smile, throws in a peace sign just because he can. Pink little letter held between thumb and pointer. "Of course, Sonohara-chan! I'll make sure it'll be safely delivered to Iwa-chan!" 

She smiles gratefully, cheeks a cute girly rosy. She doesn't notice the shadows behind his eyes, nor the distorted waver in his voice.

They never do.

"So, Sonohara-san?" 

"Eh?" 

"Dont play dumb, the whole class saw you."

"Aw, Iwa-chan, is that _jealousy_ I sense there?" 

"Who'd ever be jealous of a rotten guy like you." 

"Haha, you're so tsundere, Iwa-chan! Don't worry, you'll always be number one in Oikawa-san's heart~ Hey, wait— _ouch!_ That hurts, Iwa-chan!"

"Shittykawa!" 

He ducks away from the next punch, laughs and laughs and maybe feels tears clinging to his lashes, and maybe wonders _is that actually jealousy I can hear in your voice, Iwa-chan,_ and maybe if he pretends he can act like it's for him and not the girl Hajime thinks is so smitten with Tooru.

Always so wrong in his assumptions, never sees what's right in front of his eyes. 

(Why won't you notice, Hajime. Why do you never believe me.)

The letter feels heavy in his bag. 

(Good thing he's always been skilled at getting rid of dead weight.) 

_That's an invasion of privacy, asshole,_ Hajime would scold him, ever the savior of everything and all. 

But Hajime's not here, and he'll never know of the letters existence either. Tooru'll make sure of that. 

So he easily breaks the letter open with his fingers, doesn't bother doing it neatly. Not like anyone relevant will ever get to see it anyway.

 _Iwaizumi-san,_ it starts, because they always do. 

_I'm sure you don't remember me,_

_You don't know me that well, but,_

_I've been watching you for some time now,_

_I really like you,_

_You probably don't return my feelings, but,_

_Would you like to go out sometime?_

Strangers falling for a reliable guy they saw maybe once or twice, getting lost in fantasies about someone they'll never have the honor of calling _mine_. What foolish little girls with their easily broken glass hearts. 

Leaning out of the window he flicks the lighter open with practiced ease, lets the flame caress just one corner of the pink envelope. Fire dances in his eyes as he watches the paper curl and twist, turn grey and dry out like his foolish little-girl-heart. 

There's some flakes and ash left on the windowstill, and he blows them off with one lengthy breath, doesn't spare a look at his desk and the stationery set his sister got him as a joke for his last birthday. 

_My stupid brother's such a player, maybe **you** should write a girl a letter for a change!_

It came in a neat bundle of a hundred letter papers and envelopes each, blinding white with tiny golden shooting stars dotting the borders, a pen dripping with royal blue. 

(I wish I may, I wish I might,  
Have you just for this one night.) 

The pen's almost empty. There's only two tries left. 

She's gripping his sleeve in one small fist, arm shaking, and he wants to slap her hand off, laugh in her face. _Did you really think he'd ever return your pathetic little feelings?_ , delivered gleefully, meanly. Soaking in the misery crossing her face 'cause it's what he's confrontend with every time he dares look in the mirror. 

There's dark satisfaction in seeing your own pain reflected in another. 

But that's not _Oikawa-san_ , so he pushes _Tooru_ down, crawling in-between his ribs and slipping into his marrow where his ugly ugly feelings reside and only ever come out when there's no one to witness them. 

He drops his eyelids and curls his lips, full of pity as he takes her hand into his own, rubs soothing cirlces into the back of her hand with his thumb. 

She's a smart one, he has to admit, doesn't even need any words. Her shoulders drop, barely visible but still obviously trembling. She's trying to hide it, though. Knows better than to have a breakdown where everyone can see. 

He's preening on the inside, pointing and laughing and laughing and _laughing._ What a delicious treat to start the day with.

 _That's it_ , he thinks, _now you know my pain._

"Oh," she whispers, "so that's how it is." She glides her hand out of his, smooth-skin-palm, avoids his gaze as she brushes past him, only mumbles a quick, "Thank you for your help anyway, Oikawa-san."

Deafeat's so sweet on his tongue when it's not his own. 

"So you turned her down?" 

"Hm?" 

"Sonohara-san."

"Hmm... I wonder."

"Cut the crap, everyone's talking about how she looked like she was gonna cry any moment after she talked to you." 

"Maybe she was just so happy about the great Oikawa-san accepting her confession! Who knows?" 

He anticipates the punch coming his way and dances out of its way. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, that's no way to express your jealousy, Iwa-chan!" 

"What jealousy, you freak! I just can't believe you're such an ass and made the poor girl cry! Actually, nevermind, I totally can, you're rotten from the inside!" 

"So mean, Iwa-chan!" 

You have no idea just how right you are, Hajime.

He's not a girl, but he's always had neat penmanship, and light blue's been his favorite color since he was a kid.

 _Iwa-chan_ and _Hajime_ and _don't you know it's always been you._

Scratch it out until the paper rips.

He catches sight of Sonohara the next morning, eyes puffy and red, a gaggle of her friends surrounding her, cooing at her, pity disguised as solace falling from their candy-lips. 

He can't stop smiling for the rest of the day. 

"Don't you think the captain's been in an... unusually good mood today?" 

"So you noticed it too, Makki?" 

"Yeah. Wonder what happened."

"Knowing him, he probably succesfully ruined someone's life."

"You always expect the worst of our captain, Mattsun." 

"He makes it easy with the evil looks he sends anyone he doesn't like. Thinks he's so sly when everyone knows except the person who actually matters." 

"Ehhh, you really think even Kindaichi realized?" 

"...Everyone besides the person that matters, and Kindaichi." 

"Haha!" 

Cruel irony's got it out for him, is his first thought. 

Nighttime, post-dinner silence. He's just sitting in his room, pajamas on, hair still wet and dripping from his shower as he's about to rip the letter up. 

It's the last one, and maybe now he'll finally be able to let go of his feelings, be able to move on. 

(Like he hasn't been in love for over ten years, like he's not aching and broken and in shambles, barely held together by scraps of affection so carelessly given.)

He never expects the door to be thrown open; his father knows better, always knocks, and his mother's still out with her friends. 

Which only leaves—

Dread curling in his stomach, paper crinkling between his fingers. Too late, he thinks, no time to hide it. 

Maybe he won't notice. He never has before, after all. 

"Yo, sorry for dropping in without calling, but—" 

He remembers the first time his knee gave out back in middle school. The moment just before he hit the ground, phantom-pain already ripping through his nerves. That quiet moment of _ah_ , the helpless feeling of knowing what's about to happen, that he screwed up, but being completely unable to do anything about it. 

He feels a little like that right now. 

Hajime's expression goes from perplexed to enraged so quickly, it's almost funny.

He wants to laugh. God, if only he could laugh right now. Usually hides the pain flowing through his veins so well.

"Oh my god, you're the absolute _worst_. Seriously? You even tear your fangirls' letters apart now? Do you get some sick sort of satisfaction out of playing with those poor girls' feelings or something? I really thought you couldn't get worse, and yet—"

The letter's ripped from his hands, and even tightly holding onto it only accomplishes tearing it in half.

Too much, there's still too much left on that piece for Hajime to find out.

There are tears in his eyes before he can help it.

"Wow, you're really crying about this? Come on, that's terrible, even for you. What am I supposed to do? _Praise_ you for trying to rip the heartfelt letter of some... girl...."

_Haha._

Salt in his mouth and laughter in his chest, so dark and ugly and wrong. He hiccups, wants to choke to death on this hysteria of his, grin on his face lightning-bright.

_This is the worst._

"What... what is this?" 

Hajime's so mean, honestly has the audacity to sound so shaken right now. Like he's the one who's biggest secret just got revealed against his will and not Tooru.

Then again, Hajime isn't the one who fell in love with his own childhood friend. 

_Laugh it off_ , he tells himself. Make it into one giant joke, _haha, just kidding, Iwa-chan! I was gonna put it into your locker tomorrow, prank you real good! Like anyone could ever fall in love with a gorilla like you!_

Instead he raises his eyes, forces Hajime to face him. He knows he's an ugly crier, but he doesn't care—let Hajime see. Let him deal with it. 

Yeah, I'm in love with you. What are you gonna do about it? 

"What does it look like?" And maybe it comes out a little too viscious, but that's what keeping things bottled up does to you, he supposes. Hajime did always warn him about that.

Hajime stays silent. Doesn't quite avert his eyes, but they stay glued to the torn piece gripped in his hands, so it's close enough. 

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Hajime, I love you, I love you so much. Iwa-chan. Hajime. Please, Hajime, please, I love you, I love you. I lov_

Tooru bites his lip. Bites back sobs, too. He _wants_ Hajime too see, what he does to Tooru, how he's barely holding on, bursting at the seams, but maybe it's too much after all. He wants Hajime to hurt like he's hurting, but he doesn't want to smash their relationship in its entirety. 

Just being friends is the worst, but he couldn't bear being nothing at all. _Childhood friends_ , and at least in that regard Hajime's entirely his.

His half of the letter flutters to the floor, wet smudges, tears and shower water, like rain accompying the shooting stars, and that catches Hajime's attention at last. 

_Don't_ , he wants to say, _don't look._ Today was supposed to be a day of closure, not of revelations.

_e you so much, so much, so much, but you never notice. You never believe me when I tell you you're the only one. Why don't you believe me? Do you do it on purpose? Is that it? Is that your way of turning me down? Iwa-chan. Hajime. Why won't you love me?_

He starts to laugh, and it's ugly even to his own ears. Presses the balls of his thumbs against his eyes, god, how pathetic can he _get_. What's he trying to do, force his childhood friend to apologize for not returning his feelings?

Hajime's right, he really _is_ the worst. _Look, my stupid feelings for you_ , dumps them all over the place for Hajime to clean up. He always had to take care of Tooru's messes, and looks like this isn't gonna be any different.

"You fucking— you _idiot_ , I can't—" Dear Iwa-chan, actually lost for words. What a day this turned out to be. 

Tooru's hands are forcefully ripped away, and he stops laughing. Hajime rakes his eyes over his face, takes everything in. All bared, every repulsive thing he's ever done, the desperation and the vindictiveness. 

The green-eyed monster hiding under the pretty-boy-façade.

Don't look. Please, don't look. 

But this time, Hajime does.

"You were gonna rip it." 

Tooru shrugs. Tooru nods. Tooru despairs. What's he supposed to say to that? It's true. 

"You were never gonna show me."

"Of course not." Wants to scoff, because, what? Wasn't that obvious from the start? 

"Why not?" And Hajime's earnest about it, too. Why would you not want to confess your undying love for me?

Take a fucking guess, genius.

Tooru laughs wetly. Deflects, 'cause that's what he does best. "I kept them away from you, you know. All those girls. They like you. So many of them. I hated them. I _hate_ them. They give me letters for you, but I never deliver them. I rip them up, soak them until the ink is washed off, burn them up until nothing is left." He smiles, sharp and unguarded. Hit me, shout at me. Go on, do it. Tell me how horrible I am, but this time you'll actually mean it. Maybe you'll even hate me now.

Hajime stares at him, wordlessly. Unblinking. No expression for Tooru to analyze. Then sighs, so full of unspoken things, his fingers dancing over the back of Tooru's hand.

"I know that. You fucking idiot, of course I _know._ "

No.

"What?"

It's Hajime who laughs now, and it rings empty in the room. "I thought you were just—I thought you were being an asshole. That you couldn't deal with not having every single girl's attention. I never even considered—" 

Bumps his forehead against Tooru's, eyes looking teary and shaky breath warm against his damp cheeks.

Looks shaken, a little unsure. Not sad, though. Not mad. Not at all. 

"Why aren't you angry?" 

"Oh, I'm furious. But not at you—not _just_ at you. At me. At _us_. God, if only I had known, if only you had _told_ me, we could have—" 

Could have what? Ended this friendship that much sooner? That's exactly what Tooru was trying to avoid.

"—skipped all of this. All the time we wasted... Oikawa— _Tooru_." Desperation laces his voice, so familiar it scares Tooru. His heart burns. 

Hope cuts so deep.

"What," tongue too big in his mouth, words suddenly a foreign concept. "What do you mean?" 

Hajime grins, raw at the edges, glides his lips over Tooru's cheek. Up to his ear. "What do you think I mean?" Whispers it like a secret first shared, fingers interlaced with Tooru's. 

Presses his lips against Tooru's because apparently he's just that cruel. 

But Tooru's nothing if not a man about to drown, and maybe this is just another dream, or maybe it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. He'll take it either way, as starving man are wont to do.

It's just a short peck, not at all like the breathtaking kisses sweeping him off his feet Tooru always imagined.

It's the most perfect thing he could have wished for.

But doubt is a cruel mistress, and he doesn't dare assume. Blinks and inhales shakily as Hajime looks at him expectantly, his fingers gliding over Tooru's bare arm. "You get it now?" 

He shakes his head. 

Hajime laughs, the one that makes his eyes crinkle, makes Tooru want to follow the lines with the tips of his fingers. "Really? Should I have made it more obvious?" Suggestively tugs at the hem of Tooru's t-shirt, consequently makes Tooru's heart stop, want flooding his veins.

He places his hand over Hajime's so it's pressed against his stomach, warm and reassuring even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"No! That's not—you have to say it! Say it!" 

Suppressed laughter in the corners of Hajime's mouth. "You didnt say it, either."

"I did!"

"Did not. You _wrote_ it. And you weren't even gonna show me."

You're so mean, he thinks, eyes prickling, but can't even voice it before Hajime's already cupping his cheek. There's something lovely in his eyes. 

"I love you. I love you. I've loved you for so long, it feels like there was never a time I haven't." 

"So cheesy," he says, voice cracking embarrassingly. He doesn't care. "Who'd've thought you'd be such a sap, Iwa-chan."

"Says the crybaby."

Could return the jab, could whine and complain, but. 

"I'm just, so _happy_. Hajime. Hey. Hajime. Hajime, listen." He pulls at the front of Hajime's sweater like he's trying to get his attention although his eyes haven't left Tooru's face this whole time. "Hey, Hajime. Can I tell you a secret? Can I, can I?" He's chirping at this point, so goddamn _giddy_ , doesn't stop pulling at Hajime's sweater even when Hajime puts his own hand over Tooru's and tries to pull it off. "I can, right? You love me, so you gotta listen to me. _Hajime._ "

Hajime's stopped his futile attempts at getting Tooru to let go, instead smooths his palm over the fist tightly holding onto his sweater. "Yeah, yeah, shut up already, I'm listening." Then adds, not quite meeting Tooru's eyes, "I always am. Idiot. "

Tooru bites his lip, but can feel the grin press against his cheekbones, his teeth. He rests his free hand on Hajime's wrist, pulls him forward by the sleeve until they're close enough for whispers to be shared mouth to mouth. 

"I love you so much, it scares me sometimes. What it does to me. What it makes me do. All the terrible things I'm capable of just to ensure you're all mine. But I love you, and I don't want to know what it's like not to." 

It's always been his ears that gave Hajime's embarrassment away. Red creeping over the tips, and his collarbone, too, if it weren't for his clothes currently hiding it. 

"Who's the sap now," Hajime grumbles, but it sounds weak. Tooru grins. Kisses him without warning, 'cause _Hajime loves him_ , so he's allowed to do that, now.

(Maybe he'll get another set. One with beetles, just to tease Hajime. Maybe he'll even show them to him, this time. All one hundred and one.)

**Author's Note:**

> saw one (1) panel of oikawa ripping a love letter in a doujin a few days back and my lizard brain immediately went 'Yes I Want That'


End file.
